A Ninja's Tale
by Elite Foot Ninja Tim
Summary: We are hated and reviled thanks to enemy propaganda. But we are people behind our masks. What is a day in the life of an honourable Foot Soldier really like?


**A Ninja's Tale**

_Foot Ninja Tim_

* * *

Yes, I know I am currently stuck in Dimension X with fellow-convict Wanequelle for insulting Krang and now co-rule on behalf of the Foot Clan (American Division)…but this was my life until then. I think you will be able to see why I was glad to be flung into this pit of misery. There's no running water, you know.

* * *

Who am I? 

I am shadow, I am the glint of a shurikin flowing through air to embed itself in my victim. I am silent slipping of a garrotte around my enemy's neck. I am instant obedience to my Master's orders. I am…

Ah, who am I fooling?! I am a flippin' **babysitter**! Did I spend my entire **_life_** in training for…for THIS?! I did, you know. I am no Ichiro-come-lately! My swaddling clothes were cut from the night and woven into a shinobi. I cut my teeth on a throwing knife (and my gums- it hurt a lot. My Sensei, honourable Saburu-sama, (may his soul have passed to a place that befits him) said it would be a good lesson to learn as a babe).

And now, I stand here, burping the newest addition to our little nursery and wondering what I did to deserve this. Oh wait, I know. We thought Shredder-sensei was dead. We really did. Me and Bob, fellow Foot Elite and my twin brother, discussed it and then transferred allegiance to his daughter, honourable Karai-sama.

Wish I'd changed back as quickly when Shredder came back. But no, my loyalty once given is never rescinded!

So what is my job now, I, Elite Foot Tim and Head of the Accountancy Division, the most devious, the most brutal and most cruel to the unwary department of them all!?

I bring up the little Accountants-in-training. It's a hard and thankless task. We do sometimes take in street-foundlings, being a charitable and kind institution from time-to-time and raise them as our own. From the age they are old enough to understand, they undertake the most menial tasks and have an education more or less beaten into them in preparation for a short and spiky life as cannon-fodder due to His Evilness Peter Laird, who kills us off by Turtle whenever he feels like it.

But just sometimes a child shows a particularly cunning and clever temperament. Then they are watched closely. Their records are examined. Their deviousness is calculated. Finally, the great task is assigned to them. If they can kill an adult or steal another child's teddy-bear, in public, and most importantly, _talk their way out of it,_ they are taken away by the Foot Lawyer Department for careful tutelage.

The ones who fail are handed over to me for training as Foot Accountants.

So every day, from six thirty in the morning to midnight, I am solely responsible for a class full of the nearly-most sneaky, close-to-most intelligent and almost-the-most downright twisted five-year-olds in New York.

It is hell.

I have a lesson-plan prepared for each morning. The sixteen children- we had a sudden influx five years ago, mainly due to some historical dude having predicted the end of the world in 1980- have generally blown it out the window by 0830. Sometimes literally, in the case of young Oruko Yoko-chan and her evil chemistry set.

Theoretically, here's my day;

**0630**- go to classroom and clear all the booby-traps left from the previous day and planted during the night. Unluckily these are often planted about waist-height, due to the height of the perpetrators, so you need to be definitely on your toes. My predecessor fell to one of these. (Well, he didn't _decess_ precisely, but let's say he won't be producing more little Footies to torment me.)

**0730**- get the wee demons out of bed and moving downstairs for breakfast. A large bell complete with stick usually does the trick as I am a reasonable man. A bucket of water or a scorpion works on the layabeds or heavy sleepers. This is Foot School, not a holiday camp.

**0830**- breakfast is over by this point. No point making them cook- the opportunistic among them (i.e. all of them), would take the chance to poison their rivals. Or me.

I run to the classroom and disarm any late traps.

**0900**- Lessons start. Four hours of _Art of Accountancy_, followed by break and six hours of poisons theory, antidotes practical, weapons techniques and Ninjitsu theory. Also Foot Indoctrination. And once a week, Applied Zoology, specifically concentrating on _Subclass Chelonia_. Lunch is in there once or twice along with few breaks, including a scheduled Hospital Break where any of the injured get to drag themselves there alone. Hey, it's a tough world, the sooner these kids learn it, the better.

**1900**- Dinner hour. Also known as the Sixth Circle. I don't want to talk about it. Ever tried teaching sixteen evil five-year-olds table manners? At least I have my throwing knives. Nothing like a knife suddenly glinting in the mashed potatoes to put manners on a child!

**1800**- Evening nap. My shattered nerves get a chance to relax. I read various nursery rhymes aloud to the children to get them to dreamland and I can finally breathe. They particularly like _Mary Had A Little Lamb_. You may have heard of it?

_Mary had a little lamb,_

_It's eyes the colour red_

_And where the Ninja Lamb did go_

_The people surely fled._

And

_Twinkle, Twinkle little star,_

_Give me away to my enemies and I will drop poison into your nightcap._

_Ever heard of Acocanthera?_

_Yeah, I thought so- hide behind your cloud till I'm gone, got it?_

**2000**- children are awake and a half-hours winding down ensues. I read them stories of our noble history and retrieve any weaponry they've stolen throughout the day.

**2030**- Bed for them and I plan lessons for tomorrow. Then I fill out the paperwork and go out on patrol.

Sound good right? Hah! Here's what actually happens!

**0630** Drag myself out of bed, usually avoid the traps set in my own bedroom. Go to bathroom to clean the wounds incurred in walking that far.

**0700** Panic. Rush to classroom to clear traps. Narrowly avoid losing my head or random limb to something devious, especially young Oroku Karai-chan's (not my Mistress, but all the children take our master's name and this one was named after our Mistress.). That girl will go far. Possibly from the fifteenth floor window if I lose another finger.

**0730**- Drip blood on dormitory floor. Not difficult in the circumstances. The children wake up, little eyes glinting in the darkness. I swear they can smell it or something.

Bang bell anyway.

**0800**- Yell at cook for not having made breakfast for sixteen probably-cannibalistic five-year-olds. Remember that Shredder killed cook last week for over-salting the porridge. Cook breakfast. Use cook's corpse to give the children a basic lesson in not annoying our Master as well as the location of various important organs. Seems to be working so far. Will need to find another corpse soon though- this one's falling apart.

**0930**- Lessons start late as particularly fiendish trap gives me trouble. Finally call in the kids and let them clear the room- they have two minutes to have the room cleared and be sitting in a semicircle or- and here's the important word- ELSE. Reserve checking my mat myself. Swap it for someone else's more or less at random before class starts anyway. Or sometimes not. Half an hour of the _Art of Accountancy_. Children getting bored. When they get bored they start getting homicidal. So intersperse it with half an hour strenuous exercise. Hah- that'll keep the little brats listening for another while. Complete five hours like this before bringing them to the mini-dojo for training. They know that in here all pranking and attempted murder is forbidden, punishable by instantaneous death or being sent away, depending on the level of their training. We have obedient ninja or no ninja. (No, I haven't actually killed any of my charges and even Shredder himself would have to get through me before he got any of them but so far the threat seems to be working. It's not an idle one)

**Sometime later**- Dinner hour. Mentally exhausted and on knife edge, I get them into the dinner hall and occasionally have to tie the ends of their leashes to their chairs to give me a break. A really good knot will keep even the most skilled of them busy for at least three minutes. Accidentally pin Oroku Frederic-kun to his chair with throwing knife by his shinobi sleeve. Pretend it was done on purpose. That'll teach the little monster to try slip laxative into my food!

**Sometime after that**- Confiscate all weapons stolen throughout the day. Search dormitories for any weapons sneaked in. Is so close to bed time that I dispense with nap-time and get the kids settled before reading them a story, generally of an informative and useful bent; _How to Make Turtle Soup _for instance or _Where Bushido Goes Wrong_. Occasionally I am requested for a fairytale- _Goldilocks and the Three Ninja,_ for instance (hah! She doesn't get away so easily there, I tell you!) or the _Katana in the Stone_.

**Eventually**- Stumble out and seek bed. Remember that I've patrol tonight. Curse Shredder and all his works. Flash-fry turtles with my laser-vision. Get re-instated as Elite Foot Ninja and my worst enemy, Brian, is given my job. Brian lasts all of one miserable day before leaping from the fifteenth story window. Or maybe is pushed.

Hah- sweet dreams.

So there's my day in a nutshell. My only hope of reward is just maybe, when my children take over the world in the name of the Foot Clan (possibly by auditing the Purple Dragons out of existence, they will remember me kindly and not kill me.

Hah- who am I kidding. I have patrol tonight and Peter Laird has been looking at the Foot Tower with a speculative look. S'pin a while since that pest of an oldest turtle got to slice a whole bunch of highly-trained ninja at once in an unlikely fashion. So I go nobly to do my duty.

And I hope they drive Brian to insanity.

* * *


End file.
